


Flames On My Skin

by imagined_haven



Series: Hot Professors 'Verse [2]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angry Sex, F/M, Semi-Public Sex, but they're both professors though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagined_haven/pseuds/imagined_haven
Summary: Ever since the day she’d met Rowan Whitethorn, Aelin had been promising herself two things: that she would rise above his taunting and be the better person, and that she would stop sleeping with him.It turned out, she was terrible at holding herself to both of those goals.Based on a prompt from tumblr.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn
Series: Hot Professors 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123625
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Flames On My Skin

Aelin stormed into her office and slammed the door behind her, tossing the folder she carried onto her desk and growling as it exploded on impact, papers flying everywhere. The department meeting had somehow gone even worse than she’d anticipated, and given that she’d prepared as though it was a battle rather than a biweekly check-in that was saying something.

Rather than gather the papers that had scattered across her desk, she allowed herself to instead flop into her chair and lean back as far as it would go. Her hands found their way into her hair and began pulling the hairpins out of her carefully braided and coiled style. Gods, she had spent so _long_ trying to look professional, trying to be the calm and collected professor and researcher she _knew_ she was.

As he did for most things, Rowan Whitethorn had ruined that so effortlessly.

All it had taken him was a handful of subtly pointed remarks and she had absolutely lost it and snapped at him. She didn’t know what it was about him in particular; in her field she’d certainly dealt with difficult personalities before, and it wasn’t like their research interests aligned enough for them to be forced into working together overly often. But ever since her first day in Doranelle University’s psychology department, she and Rowan had been at each other’s throats to the point where Gavriel— _Professor Albareda_ , he wasn’t her uncle while they were working, he was the head of the department—had threatened to sit them down and make them come up with an _agreement_ and _sign_ it.

She could be more mature than that. She _would_ be more mature than that. She…

Fuck. _I’m so wet right now_ , she realized as she crossed her legs and bit her lip.

This had been the other reaction she’d had to his presence for as long as they’d been working together. When she’d first seen him, the combination of broad shoulders and platinum hair with pine-green eyes had immediately piqued her interest, and she’d been about to say something vaguely inappropriate when he’d raised a single eyebrow and asked if her blouse was stained with coffee or intentionally patterned that way.

She’d made sure _his_ shirt was stained too, but even that awful first meeting had done nothing to diminish her interest. It didn’t take a researcher with a specialization in theories of personality to realize that probably said something about herself. Unfortunately for her, she _was_ one, and so she chose not to dwell on it for too long.

Thankfully, while they’d both been kicked out of the meeting she thought she’d seen him head toward his own office two halls away. The others would be in the conference room for another ten minutes at least, and likely closer to twenty. She had a little time. She could take care of things with no one the wiser and escape with the shreds of her dignity intact, so she could lick her wounds and fight another day.

Decision made, she let her hand slide under her own skirt.

She hissed as her fingertips traced along the waist of the panties she’d worn that day and then lower. Gods, she really _was_ wet. This wouldn’t take long at all. Which was a good thing, as this was her _office._ At _work_. Fuck, that shouldn’t be turning her on even more.

Suddenly the door opened and she jumped into an upright position, hands smoothing her skirt back down. She hadn’t gotten very far, and it was possible—likely, even—that whoever had come in wouldn’t be able to tell. The flush on her cheeks was easily explained by the fight, and hardly anything else was out of place.

“Well, don’t let _me_ stop you.” Fuck, that was _his_ voice drawling from her doorway.

Aelin glared at the intruder, and sure enough that was Whitethorn leaning against the doorframe. “What are you _doing_ here, Buzzard?” she asked, irritation seeping into her tone.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, all day. Especially while you were yelling at me earlier.” That last bit was said with his trademark smirk, and she hated how it made her want to melt.

“Funny,” she growled, “because I’d done _such_ a good job of almost forgetting the last time we ran into each other.” They had wound up pressed against each other in a supply closet then, and for a dizzying moment she wasn’t sure if she wanted to do it again or forcibly eject him from her office once and for all.

“Is that so?”

She finally snapped. “What do you _want_ , Whitethorn?”

His smirk broadened, a too-familiar light gleaming in his eyes. “I want you to touch yourself for me.”

Aelin sniffed, hoping the gesture hid the shiver she couldn’t quite suppress. “Full of ourselves today, are we?”

“You say that like you think I _didn’t_ see what you were doing. Go on. Right where you left off.”

It was tempting, Aelin couldn’t deny that. It was a terrible idea, but it was so very tempting. Just like it had been last time, and the time before that. Still, she couldn’t resist one last snide remark. “Bold of you to assume that had anything to do with you.”

She slid forward in her chair, though, legs spreading slightly as she said the words. Whitethorn grinned and stepped fully into her office, closing and locking the door behind himself. Good, at least he had the tiniest amount of sense. “I’m assuming nothing. But I know what you were doing, and you know by now that all you have to do is tell me I’m out of line.”

It was an out, and even though she appreciated him offering it, she already knew she wouldn’t take it. As inadvisable as it was to be doing this with a colleague whose relationship with her was antagonistic at best, she just couldn’t bring herself to call it off.

If he was as conflicted as she was, it didn’t show in his face as he watched her fingertips trace up her thigh toward her core. “Gods, you’re so hot.”

The words were whispered, and rough as though they had been torn from his throat without his volition. The harsh yet soft tone in combination with his purring accent made her fingers twitch, and she gasped as they brushed over her clit through the lace of her panties. “I know,” she retorted, though she knew there was a tremble in her voice and she knew he would pick up on it.

“You’re holding back,” was his only reply. “Go on, take them off.”

“Why, so you can steal them?” She grinned as she slipped her fingers beneath the lace instead. “I would’ve thought that kind of thing was beneath you, Mr. High and Mighty.”

He grinned as well, though his eyes were fixed on the movement of her fingers. “I don’t care what you do with them. Stuff them into a drawer if you really feel a need to.” _I just need to see_. He wanted to say it, she could see it in his face, but something was holding him back.

Deciding to put her colleague out of his misery, she hooked her thumbs in the fabric and wiggled out of it, tossing the scrap of lace at him before settling back down on the corner of her desk and spreading her legs wide for him.

He caught the fabric easily enough, tucking it into a pocket before resuming his nonchalant stance. She knew better, though; she could see from the dilation of his pupils and the tension in his arms and hands that he was far from unaffected, and that was without the evidence that was rapidly making itself prominent below his belt. She grinned, reveling in the strange empowerment of seeing him struggle for composure. “I knew you just wanted to steal them. I better get those back.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up and touch yourself, Galathynius.”

She smirked at him, letting her hand rest against her upper thigh instead. “Say my name.”

Whitethorn scowled. “I _did_ say your name.”

“You know what I mean. You want to watch me shove my fingers in this cunt, you can call me by my first name for a change.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Shut up and touch yourself, _Aelin_.”

“Much better.” Anything else she could’ve said trailed off into a moan as she finally allowed her fingertips to properly circle her clit, free hand hiking her skirt up enough to grant her freedom of movement and him the view he sought.

She’d already been so worked up before this moment just from their argument, and the look in his eyes as he watched hungrily was only fanning the flames burning within her. But it wasn’t enough, even as she slipped one finger and then another into herself and curled them just the right way. A part of her knew it would _never_ be enough, not like this.

Not when he was right there.

“I need to feel you,” she gasped, not even caring that the words left her even more exposed than her position under his heated gaze.

He lifted an eyebrow in response, even as his hands went to the buckle of his belt. “Do you, now?”

“Shut up and get in me, you arrogant buzzard,” Aelin snapped.

Whitethorn scowled. “You made me say your name, the least you could do is say mine while you’re begging me to fuck you.”

She supposed it was only fair, after what she had made him say just a few short moments ago. It was surprisingly difficult, though, to finally give voice to those few simple words she’d said all too often in her own dreams now. “Fuck me, Rowan.”

The words had an immediate impact on him, and she watched as his eyes closed briefly and his fingers fumbled over his fly. “Just for that, I’m going to fuck you until you _beg_ me to stop.”

“Those are big words for a man who is _not_ currently fucking me.”

The words did their job, goading him into freeing himself from his pants quickly and then just as quickly pressing into her. Her head tipped back at the pleasurable stretch of his cock filling her, laced with just the most delightful edge of pain. Fuck, he was bigger than she’d remembered, but the last thing she wanted to do was give him the satisfaction of saying it.

He could read it from her face, though, she was sure of it. He always had a way of knowing when her own mind was betraying her.

His hips stilled once he was fully seated inside of her, and she opened her mouth to snarl at him before it opened further on a moan she couldn’t hold back as his thumb found her clit. “Pity we don’t have longer.” His voice was deceptively light, but from the way his free hand clutched at her hip he was clearly struggling to hold himself back.

That was highly displeasing, but she could goad him into letting go and moving. She was sure of it. “Why’s that, so you can take _twice_ the time to disappoint me by getting in me and doing nothing? Fucking _move_.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he taunted, but before she could even think to reply he moved his hand away from her clit to clutch at both of her hips as he pulled out and then slammed back into her.

Aelin gritted her teeth to keep him from getting the satisfaction of eliciting yet another moan from her. A second thrust caught her off guard, though, and she cried out and clutched at his shirt. “More,” she demanded. “Please, _more_ —”

He thankfully cut her off by clapping a hand over her mouth before she could embarrass herself further. “Be _quiet_ ,” he hissed. “Or do you want everyone else to hear? The conference room isn’t that far from here, you know. Are you trying to get caught?”

She wasn’t sure if it was the tone of his voice, the thrill of danger, or the continued movement of his cock inside her. Gods help her, though, she trembled and came just like that, biting at his palm to hold back a whimper.

“Fuck,” he whispered before biting his own lip. His rapid thrusts slowed to a steady grind, and his free hand shifted so he could rub his thumb over her clit once more.

The movement made her whine into his hand; she was already so sensitive from having reached her peak once, and it had been earth-shattering enough that she didn’t think she’d be able to again so soon. “I can’t,” she sobbed, the sound muffled by his palm. “Please, I can’t, I—”

“You can. You can, I’m almost there.” Thank the gods, he seemed to realize they didn’t have time for him to draw another orgasm out of her. Instead he kept up the steady motion of his hips and his cock, letting his thumb stop its movements and simply rest over the oversensitive nub of flesh.

She tugged his hand away from her mouth and then surged forward, crushing their lips together in a sloppy kiss before biting his lower lip.

She couldn’t tell what it had been that pushed him over the edge; it could’ve been the kiss, the edge of pain from her teeth, or even simply the change in angle she had provided. Maybe it was a combination of all of those, or something else altogether. Whatever it was, Whitethorn hissed and his hips stilled, and soon she felt the warmth of his release.

They both clung to each other as they struggled to catch their breath, before finally separating. As he tucked himself back into his pants and adjusted his belt, Aelin stood on shaky legs and smoothed her skirt over her thighs. She would need to clean up soon, or the evidence of what they’d just done would be plain for all to see given the material of her outfit. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being the first to leave.

Besides, she wasn’t altogether certain she could walk just yet.

He seemed to have no such problems, for he strode to her door and unlocked it again as she raked fingers through her golden waves to attempt to tame them. “So,” he drawled. “Same time next week, Galathynius?”

Asshole. She snarled in reply. “Get the fuck out of my office, _Whitethorn_.”

He smirked, though she automatically catalogued that the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

The door closed once more behind him with a quiet click, and Aelin sighed and reached for the bottom drawer of her desk. She fumbled blindly inside it before pulling out a small package of tissues and—

Gods _damn_ him. She’d forgotten she hadn’t tucked her panties away after all, and he’d just walked out of her office with them still in his pocket.

It seemed she’d have to meet him again after all. Perhaps in _his_ office, in a day or two.


End file.
